


Shadows and Ghosts

by Elvendork



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sirius was different. Tired, and old, and – and damaged. But <i>Padfoot was still in there</i>. Well: Moony is still there too."</p><p>When Tonks remarked that Sirius was "still handsome, even after Azkaban", she wasn't just commenting on his aesthetics. It is not easy to get her point across to her new husband, but she tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a line from Remus's story on Pottermore: A comment by Tonks - "He's still handsome, isn't he, even after Azkaban?" - which Remus took at the time to mean that she had fallen in love with Sirius. This is set shortly after Remus returns to her following his confrontation with Harry.
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter. Obviously.

Sometimes, in moments like this, Remus can almost forget that there is a war on. He can almost forget everything except the gentle weight of Dora’s head on his chest, the soft tickle of her pink hair under his nose.

Almost, but not quite.

There is an emptiness in him that he doesn’t think will ever be filled, although Dora… Dora fills more of it than he would ever have imagined possible. He rubs his thumb across her upper arm absently and is silently, desperately grateful for her stubbornness. For her perseverance. And for her love. Always, above all, for her love.

He is enjoying the sleepy companionable silence between them, but he can tell that his wife (his _wife_ , when did he ever think he would _ever_ be lucky enough for this?) is thinking about something, and is not surprised when she speaks. Or he is not surprised _that_ she speaks; her actual words take him back a little.

‘Do you remember when I told you I thought Sirius was still handsome, even after Azkaban?’ she asks abruptly, twisting so that her chin is resting on his chest and she is half looking at him through dark, surprisingly alert eyes.

‘Vividly,’ Remus says, truthfully. He tries to ignore the twin pangs of remembered jealously and terrible grief and does not do a very good job.

‘You never did figure out what I meant, did you?’ She sounds exasperated, fond, and curious all at once. And – sad. She sounds _sad_. Remus hates that he is the one to have brought such heaviness into the bright young witch’s life, and for a brief moment all his old concerns and fears threaten to surface, but he forces them down and swallows. He hopes that Dora does not notice his heart rate picking up.

‘How do you mean?’ he asks, in as level a voice as he can manage.

‘You thought I was in love with him,’ Dora says gently. She rests her cheek back against his chest. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Remus smiles ruefully. On impulse, he kisses the top of her head and is surprised by how pleasant it feels to be able to do so freely. ‘You’ve made your feelings on that point quite clear.’

‘Also not what I meant,’ Dora chides. He can hear the smile in her voice.

‘I take it you weren’t simply remarking on his aesthetics after all, then?’ Remus asks lightly, though there is curiosity and sorrow in his tone as well. It hurts to be reminded of Sirius. It hurts to be reminded of any of it, and yet given the choice he knows he would never, could never, opt to forget a single moment.

‘No. Well, yes. Sort of. Not quite.’ She stops with a huff. Remus can picture her irritated scowl, though he can’t see it. He frowns slightly himself, part in thoughtfulness and part in concern. ‘I mean… I did think he was handsome. I didn’t… really _mean_ anything, when I said it. But afterwards I thought I sort of might have done.’

‘You’re not usually this cautious with your words. Was it really so bad?’ his tone is gentle, but he cannot keep the undercurrent of urgency out of it. He hates to be reminded of Sirius. He needs to be reminded of Sirius. He does not know what he feels.

‘No, it’s just – I’m not sure how to explain it.’ She pauses and takes a deep breath. He has the feeling she is deliberately maintaining her position curled against his side so as not to have to look him in the eyes, and his worry grows. Dora has never been one for avoiding direct confrontation of an issue, when she thinks it is important. She clearly thinks this is important. ‘The thing is…’ she continues hesitantly, ‘I mean, Azkaban… it was awful, right?’

‘Yes,’ Remus replies shortly, honestly. He closes his eyes and pushes away the unbearable guilt he has carried for the last three years, of knowing that he had spent over a decade imagining that Sirius could possibly have _deserved_ such a fate as to be locked up in that dreadful prison.

‘And it changed him?’

‘Yes. What happened… changed us all.’ His voice is heavy and uninviting. Dora ploughs on regardless.

‘Right. But… You could still see it. You could still see he was handsome, even though he looked so – so tired, and gaunt, and –’

‘Old?’

‘Yes,’ Dora agrees unapologetically. That is more like her. Remus is relieved despite himself. ‘He was still… the same underneath, though, right? Or – not the _same_.’ She pushes herself suddenly away, onto her back beside him, and glares at the ceiling in frustration. ‘I’m doing this all wrong.’

‘I think I follow,’ Remus says gently. He does not look around at her, even now that he can. Neither of them feels quite able to meet the other’s eyes.

‘You do?’ She sounds doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

‘I think so.’ He does. He is not sure if he agrees, but he is grateful for her effort at least, and a fresh wave of love flows over him with terrifying strength.

‘And, well you knew him better than me – but he was… still _Sirius_ , wasn’t he? Looks aside. He was still… himself.’ Remus risks a glance towards her. She is biting her lip, staring straight upwards and deliberately avoiding his gaze.

‘Well… As much as could be expected, I suppose,’ Remus allows. His chest aches with the memory of it, but he is long past tears. He can almost hear the echoes of teenage schoolboy laughter as he recalls how Sirius used to be, compared to the shell he had found in the Shrieking Shack, that night. That night he discovered just how horribly, terribly wrong he had been. He thinks of Sirius’s anger and depression at being trapped back in Grimmauld Place; of his obvious boundless joy at having the place full at Christmas. Of just how wonderfully painful and welcome the sight of him laughing with Harry had been; Harry, who looks _so much_ like James, who had done more than he ever realised to heal what could possibly _be_ healed of Remus as well as Sirius.

‘He was – Padfoot was still in there,’ he says eventually. ‘We’d both changed, but… Yes. He was still Sirius.’

‘Do you see where I’m going with this?’ Dora turns, finally, to look at him. Her eyes are fierce, determined, and uncertain.

‘I think I’m beginning to get an idea.’

‘Good. Because my point is…’ she takes a deep breath. ‘The same applies to you, you know. You’ve been through things… I don’t even want to think about. And it’s affected you. But you’re still _you_.’

‘If you’re talking about my condition…’ Remus begins doubtfully.

‘Among other things: Yes, since you mention it. Although not entirely.’

Remus frowns. ‘Dora, I’ve been a werewolf since almost before I can remember. I –’

‘You’re _Remus_ ,’ she insists. Her voice is low, urgent; almost desperate. Remus thinks he would do anything not to be causing her this pain, but he doesn’t know how to _stop_ it. His very existence seems to cause her pain even as it causes her joy. ‘You’re still _you_. That’s my _point_. These things – not just being a werewolf, I mean everything that’s happened to you, and what happened to Sirius – they _changed_ you, they _shaped_ you, they’re _part_ of you, even if you wish they weren’t – but you’re still _yourself_ as well. You’re still kind, and brave, and –’

‘I –’

‘Don’t deny it. Don’t you dare. You said yourself: Sirius was different. Tired, and old, and – and damaged. But _Padfoot was still in there_. Well: Moony is still there too.’

There is a moment of stunned, leaden silence. The old nickname hits Remus like a punch to the heart, and it must show in his expression because Dora claps her hands to her mouth and scrambles to sit up, looking horrified. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t – that was too far. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not –’

‘It’s okay,’ Remus interrupts, moving to sit up as well. He is still reeling from the shock of it. He can’t decide if he is pleased or saddened; relieved or angry. To think that any part of him is still recognisable as the boy who bore that name is – is a glorious sort of pain. It is filled, it will always be filled, with grief, with nostalgia and betrayal and – too many emotions to count. There is a part of him that rejoices that any sliver of that past is still alive, however twisted and shadowed. But there is also a part of him that rebels instinctively at anyone daring to invoke that name to – to make a _point_ , or – anyone who isn’t James or Sirius – it feels like an insult to them somehow, but he knows that Dora didn’t mean that. He _knows_ what she meant, and he is grateful. He struggles to force his next words past the growing lump in throat. ‘It’s just that no one’s called me that since… I didn’t think anyone ever would again,’ he admits, hoping it is enough to explain. He doesn’t know how better to put it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dora says quietly, ‘I’m really sorry. It wasn’t my place, I –’

‘Don’t be,’ Remus interrupts, and is surprised to find that he means it. He takes her hand gently. She curls her fingers instinctively around his, holding him tightly to her. She is avoiding his eyes again. ‘I just meant… I didn’t think there would be anyone left who _could_. I thought even if there was anyone – there wasn’t enough left of him – of Moony – to recognise anymore.’ That makes her look up.

‘You’re still here, Remus,’ she says, quietly and forcefully. She squeezes his hand insistently as though trying to prove her point. ‘ _You’re still here_. And you’re allowed to be happy. They would want you to be happy, and I’m not just saying that. I promise. I mean it.’

‘I know you do. And I know they would.’ _But it is so hard, sometimes._ He doesn’t say that part. Not, to his surprise, because he doesn’t want to admit it, but because he knows that Dora already understands.

‘Do you think you can try, then?’ she suggests tentatively. ‘Not for me. Don’t try for me. Try for yourself.’ She looks so earnest and determined that Remus doesn’t think he could refuse her anything. Swelling against the pain inside him he feels a sharp joy that anyone quite as – as _wonderful_ as her could see as much in him as she seems to. It is this, more than anything, this ability to love her so strongly even against the roiling tide of grief, that makes him understand her words properly. _Moony is still there_.

‘I’ll try,’ he says, and means it.

‘Promise?’ she insists.

‘If you promise to help.’ He does not think he could do it without her. He _knows_ that he couldn’t.

‘Of course,’ she replies, as though nothing else were ever an option. Perhaps, he allows himself to think as they wrap their arms around each other and just breathe, just bask in each other’s presence – perhaps it never was.


End file.
